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The blanket…
The blanket It had been that smell. That freshly washed ozone smell that comes after hanging laundry outside to dry on a crisp winter’s day. He’d never forget that smell. And there was the softness...
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Valley of the lillies…
The secret garden Every year, roundabout the beginning of May, her father would take her to that place. In silence, they would cycle in tandem, until they reached the imposing entrance. He would...
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what if… (a poem)
and what if for once i did not do what is expected of me what if i suddenly rolled over waving arms and legs wildly in the air in stead of all that slow-motion stuff that tedious stretching pausing and...
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